


Slipping Masks

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Psychological Torture, Rough Sex, Sadism, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Akira knows Akechi plans to betray them, he's furious, and he's bad at hiding it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Akira aggressively topping Goro" on the P5 kink meme:  
> https://personakinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/993.html?thread=122081#cmt122081

Knowing Akechi was planning to betray them put everything in a different light.

Akira had never really trusted Akechi—he doubted any of them had—but there had been a brief moment in time when he'd wanted to believe in Akechi's sincerity. Akechi was good at playing people, good at getting people to like him, and Akira was furious at himself for ever having bought it for a second.

And so, coming back to Leblanc's that evening to see Akechi sitting at the bar was no longer a pleasant surprise, but a challenge to Akira's acting skill and self-control.

Akechi, however, just beamed at him the moment he walked into the cafe. “Oh, it's good to see you, Kurusu.”

Now, Akira was trapped. He'd have to engage in some pleasantries, at least, or his behaviour would seem unnatural. Now he was regretting those long chats in the cafe they'd had before. He should have maintained his distance from Akechi from the beginning. It would have made all of this so much easier.

Morgana hopped out of Akira's bag and wandered off into the kitchen, likely in search of food. Akechi was the only customer in the cafe, so there was no one to be offended by the cat's presence. It was late, close to closing.

“Hey, Akechi,” Akira returned the greeting and seated himself next to Akechi at the bar, slinging off his bag and placing it in the basket below their feet. “I'm surprised to see you here again, since we got together so recently.”

The group had met up at Leblanc's only a couple days ago to plan the infiltration of Niijima's Palace. He couldn't have been missing this place already,

“Oh, you know,” Akechi said pleasantly, turning around in his seat to face Akira as he leaned against the bar. “I just can't get enough of the atmosphere here.”

It was such a flimsy excuse, Akira was instantly suspicious. “There are plenty of other run-down cafes you could be going to.”

“Run-down?” Soujirou grumbled on the other side of the bar.

“Atmospheric,” Akira corrected himself.

Akechi laughed in the way that Akira had once found charming, but now sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him. “Well, I enjoy the company here, too,” Akechi said, pausing for a sip of his coffee. It was nearly ten at night. Why was he drinking coffee this late, anyway? Akira knew for a fact he never had decaf. “You're always _interesting_ to talk to, Kurusu.” Usually, Akechi would lean forward a little when they talked, interested, focused on his face, but now, it was as if he were avoiding looking straight at Akira, turning his head a bit to the side to flick his eyes toward Akira's face with a little half-smile.

There was something about his tone, something about that look that made Akira feel a shiver of unease. Was he...here to spy on them? Had that been his reason for coming by, all this time? The reason he'd always seemed to find Akira at the train station, on his way to school?

Akechi's next remark snapped Akira out of his spiral of suspicions and sent him into a panic instead. “But I haven't had many chances to talk with you directly, lately. It almost feels as if you've been avoiding me.” A look. Piercing. Hard. Akechi's hand slid across the bar surface, just an inch or two closer toward him, and Akira felt his gaze drawn to it as if it were something meaningful. The hand spread, then squeezed into a fist. Tense.

For an instant, Akira froze. Did he suspect? Did he _know_ that they knew? He was a famous detective, after all. That sort of insight was to be expected. And Akira's wide array of social masks always tended to slip around Akechi. He didn't trust himself around the other boy. Not at a time like this.

Akira tried to cover up his panic with a forced chuckle. “Oh, well, you know,” he said awkwardly, stalling, trying to think of how to reply.

Seeing Akira's reaction, Akechi's eyes darkened with something Akira was convinced was suspicion. “I don't really expect you to accept me as one of the group so quickly, but sometimes, it feels as if you're all...holding out on me. You don't really trust me, do you?” Akechi's fist on the counter was still clenched. Stiff.

Akechi was staring right at him. Now, Akira was positive Akechi was starting to figure out that they were all hiding something from him. He may not have had proof, but he had his suspicions, and that was dangerous. Akira had to quash that hunch of his right here, right now.

Akira's hands twitched in his lap. He'd been silent for too long. He had to say something plausible. Something distracting enough to dispel Akechi's suspicions.

“It's not that I don't trust you...” he began. “But...I guess I have been avoiding you.” He looked away. Gathered his thoughts.

If he really wanted to fool Akechi, convince him of their trust beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best tactic would be to mix truth and lies.

“And the others all know, too, so I'm sure it's just making them feel awkward.”

“Know what?” Akechi seemed genuinely curious. His fist on the counter relaxed.

Akira turned his face back to Akechi and looked him straight in the eye. “That I'm attracted to you.”

Akechi blinked. Soujirou was conveniently gone; probably in the kitchen. There was a pause.

“Aha-ha-ha,” Akechi laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “That's a rather cruel joke. I'll have you know I'm pretty gullible when it comes to these things.”

“I'm not joking.” Akira reached out to Akechi's face and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and when Akechi froze, ran his thumb from the corner of his mouth along his bottom lip, for good measure.

Akechi's lips parted slightly as he stared back at Akira, redness rising in his face.

Yeah, now he wasn't thinking about being suspicious, anymore.

“I...tend to come off a certain way...” Akechi's voice had dropped to a mumble, “So...sometimes people make assumptions...and use that for...humour...at my expense.”

Akira was caught between painful sympathy and the gnawing suspicion that everything Akechi did was an act and that this was just another of his lies. It was ironically now easier for Akira to be out about his bisexuality—everyone knew he had a criminal record, anyway, what was being queer on top of that? But Akechi clearly cared about his reputation. He struck Akira as the kind of guy who was constantly, desperately trying to hide it, but could never quite keep it under wraps. He was just a little too girlish, a little too theatrical, a little too well-groomed.

Or maybe that was an act, too.

In an act of impulsiveness that was only half anger, Akira leaned in and captured Akechi's lips.

Akechi was clearly startled, at first, but it was only a moment until he was kissing back—surprisingly hard. Akira's one hand stayed on the side of Akechi's face, while the other went to his knee, running up his thigh as Akira leaned forward into the kiss. Akechi swayed on the stool, supporting himself with a gloved hand gripping the bar counter until Akira pulled away again.

Akira took a good look at Akechi. He was flushed, panting, and staring back at Akira. Akira smirked, hopped off the bar stool, grabbed his bag, and sauntered over to the stairs.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, turning back to Akechi, who was still frozen in his seat, his coffee cooling on the bar counter. “You're coming up, aren't you?”

Akechi stumbled off the bar stool and followed him upstairs.

xxx

Akira felt confidence in most things, but seduction was the area where where his confidence was iron. It was strange. His first time, back in middle school, he'd felt so gut-wrenchingly nervous, but afterwards, the girl had gushed about how cool and practiced and confident he'd seemed, and had refused to believe that it had actually been his first time.

It had struck him then that maybe, just maybe—he had a natural talent for this. A few more girls, a few more boys later, and became clear to him that not only was he good at this, he fucking loved it.

Now that things were on Akira's terms—the terms of seduction—all his anxiety about Akechi's suspicions and their plan to fool him evaporated. Once glance at Akechi, nervously fingering the collar of his jacket as he stood bare-footed in Akira's room, in front of where Akira sat on his bed, and it was plain as day he was a raging virgin. No matter how talented an actor he was, you couldn't fake that virgin blush, and Akira had seen the blushes of more than a few virgins. He felt incredibly smug to be finally, _finally_ seeing something he could be sure was real out of Akechi.

“Come over here,” Akira said, reaching out to take Akechi's hand, drawing him forward, pulling him to sit down beside him on the bed. He took Akechi's face in his hands and kissed him again, enjoyed how Akechi kissed him back with obvious hunger, reaching out to grab him by the jacket and clinging in a way Akira could only think of as adorable.

Akira was the one to break the kiss, leaning back so he could get another good look at Akechi.

Akechi's lips were already red and swollen, hanging open slightly, and his hair was mussed from Akira's hands carding through it.

As much as this made Akira want to ravage him right this minute, he was going to take this slow. Go at his partner's pace. “Tell me what you like,” he said, gently, hands travelling down Akechi's shoulders as they sat side-by side, turned to face each other. “I want to make this good for you.”

This question seemed to be mortifying for Akechi, as he turned an even brighter shade of red. “Um...”

Akira waited patiently for him to pull himself together enough for an answer.

“Um...don't think I'm weird, okay?” Akechi seemed to revert to his default sunny smile whenever he was embarrassed, his tone pleasant and even. “But...I'd like you to be...rough with me.” His eyes flicked away. “I'd...really like it.”

Akira's eyes widened. That hadn't been the answer he'd been expecting to hear. “Are you sure? I'm not trying to make fun of you. You just don't seem...all that experienced.”

Akechi's eyes flashed, and he looked straight back at Akira. “And you seem plenty experienced. So do it.”

Akira was surprised by his tone, unsure of what to make of it. He stood up, and faced Akechi, looking down at him sitting on the bed. He looked vulnerable, and also...something else.

But honestly, he wasn't going to say no to this. It was just the excuse he wanted.

“You asked for it,” Akira muttered, and he shoved Akechi down onto the bed, undoing Akechi's belt with practiced ease and then shoving him up the bed, spinning him around so his hands were up by the bars and using Akechi's own belt to tie the boy's hands to the head bars of the bed. Pulling Akechi's briefs down together with his pants, Akira found him already hard, and the sight of him lying there, arms pulled over his head as he brought his legs together in a reflexive attempt to hide himself, made Akira hard in his pants, too.

Akira didn't have the patience to get all the way undressed, just undoing his belt and fly to bring out his hard cock. He paused only to slather a little lube on it before forcing Akechi's thighs apart and pressing the head of his dick against Akechi's asshole. Even knowing Akechi was a virgin, Akira wasn't going to be kind about this. He wanted to see Akechi in pain.

Looming over Akechi, holding his legs spread wide, Akira sank all the way into his ass in one thrust. Akechi was clearly smothering a cry, biting his lip as his entire body clenched tight.

“How's that? Do you still want it rough?” Akira asked, a mean edge to his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Akechi said, somewhere between a sob and a plead, squeezing his eyes tight.

“It's a good thing you want it,” Akira replied. “Because I wasn't going to stop, anyway.” And then he began fucking Akechi, hard.

Akechi only managed to keep silent for about ten seconds before he began to moan and gasp in a choked way that betrayed how hard he was trying not to scream. He struggled against the belt that held him as Akira pushed his knees practically up to his ears, enjoying the harmony the slapping sound of fucking made with Akechi's whimpers.

Seeing Akechi like this, completely at his mercy, it was impossible to hold back for long. Akira came deep in his ass, dick pulsing. He pulled out the moment the shudders of orgasm stilled, releasing Akechi to watch the jizz leak from his ass onto the bed.

Akechi moaned when Akira pulled out, either in pain or at the loss of his presence, Akira couldn't tell. Akira noticed now that his face was streaked with tears, but his dick was still rock-hard and weeping.

“You little masochist,” Akira murmured, reaching up to touch Akechi's cock for the first time that evening, hand sliding from base to tip. Akechi twitched in reaction, pressing up into Akira's hand, but Akira quickly drew away, denying him. “You get off on pain, don't you?”

Eyes closed, biting his lip, Akechi nodded.

Akira found himself grinning, more than a small hint of malice in that smile. “Well then, we're going to play a little game.”

Akechi opened his eyes, still clearly quite lost in the haze of the pleasure and pain and willing to do anything Akira would tell him. Akira had seen people like that—the type who would just collapse into the bed, weak and boneless, unable to do anything but moan, whimper and scream until it was over. He'd never expected Akechi, of all people, to be the type, though.

Akechi nodded. Akira reached over and undid the belt that restrained his wrists. They had already been rubbed raw, but Akechi didn't seem to notice, leaving his hands lying above his head as he stared up at Akira.

“Roll over,” Akira ordered him. “On your stomach.” Akechi did as told. Akira pulled Akechi up by the hips until his ass was in the air, his face on the bed.

Akira started with rubbing light circles over his ass. “I'm going to hurt you. But you're not allowed to make a noise. If you do, you'll be punished.”

Eyes still glassy, Akechi nodded against the pillow. Akira grinned, and knelt behind Akechi, Akechi's leather belt in his hand.

He struck Akechi's ass with the holed end of the belt, and Akechi twitched, but managed to keep his mouth shut. Akira began striking at a slow, steady pace, starting hitting just one cheek while his hand gripped the other. Akechi seemed to start off fine, but it wasn't long before his shoulders were heaving and he was pushing the pillow into his face with his hands.

Eventually, his right ass cheek was covered in red stripes as he trembled with the force of keeping it in. _Smack. Smack. Smack._

He broke, and whimpered into the pillow.

“What did I say about not making any sounds?” Akira murmured at him. In a flash, Akira was leaning over him, hand wrapping under him to come around his neck, squeezing not hard enough to suffocate him, just enough to be a threat. “Do I have to shut you up myself?” Belt still in his hand, he squeezed Akechi's red ass cheek, hard.

Akechi, now completely unable to help himself, made a choked noise in Akira's grip.

Akira squeezed his neck, then loosened just enough to enable him to talk. “I think you owe me an apology for your disobedience.”

“...I'm sorry,” Akechi choked out, Adam's apple bobbing on Akira's palm.

“I'm sorry, _Master._ ”

“I'm sorry, Master,” Akechi repeated.

Akira pulled back, adjusting his grip on the leather belt in his hand. “I don't know. You don't sound very sincere to me.” Winding up, he struck Akechi's red ass with the leather belt, harder than before, now, and Akechi must have lost all control by this point, as he screamed loud enough to be heard downstairs. “See? You just keep making noise, even when I tell you not to.”

 _Slap. Slap. Slap._ Akira brought the belt to his ass over and over until both cheeks were bright red and Akechi's arms were locked around the pillow as he sobbed and screamed into it.

“I don't want to hear you scream,” Akira said coldly, already hard again at the sight of Akechi's total submission. “I want to hear you apologize for disobeying my orders.”

Akechi brought his face partially out of the pillow to slur out in a semi-coherent string of mumbles. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry...Master...I'm sorry...I'msorryI'msorry...forgive me, Master, forgive me...”

Akira was intoxicated, his anger at Akechi now probably too obvious on his face as he brought the belt down on Akechi's ass again and again. Akechi was too far gone to notice, legs splayed wide and almost ready to collapse into the bed as he shuddered in pleasure and pain.

“I'm sorry...Akira...forgive me...” slipped out of his lips, and hearing that, seeing his tear-streaked face as he said those words, _Akira's name,_ brought the rage bubbling up into Akira's chest, and he flipped the belt in his grip, smacking it buckle-side into Akechi's ass cheek, cracking into the skin and making it bleed.

Akechi screamed, and for a second, Akira froze, thinking he'd gone too far, but Akechi was shuddering in his hands, ropes of come shooting out of his dick onto the bedsheets before his legs gave out entirely and he collapsed onto the bed.

Akira immediately dropped the belt, lifted Akechi's ass up again and thrust inside him. Just the touch of his crotch against raw Akechi's ass was enough to make Akechi cry out. Akira knew he would be sensitive and sore, post-orgasm, never mind his bleeding and red ass cheek, but he didn't care, fucking Akechi with a cruel abandon he hadn't known he was capable of. Akechi's screams, his sobbing, his pitiful whimpers, only brought Akira to orgasm faster as he filled Akechi's ass with his come again, fingers clenched tight around Akechi's hips as the sharp sting of a second, rawer orgasm hit him.

He dropped Akechi and pulled away, and Akechi slumped onto the bed, face still buried in the pillow.

When the haze of orgasm cleared and Akira began to think clearly again, he was immediately struck with a tinge of panic. He'd definitely gone too far. He'd never gone that far with anyone before, never really felt like he'd lost himself and started hurting them in anger like that— “Shit, Akechi, I'm sorry, are you okay—” He reached out to Akechi's shoulder, gently.

For a moment, Akechi didn't react to Akira's hand on his shoulder, didn't even move. Then, suddenly, he reached up and smacked Akira's hand away. “Don't touch me.”

Akira's stomach sank. All thoughts of Akechi's intent to betray them, Akechi's secrets, Akechi's lies, had vanished from his mind. All he was thinking now was that he'd gone too far and hurt him, and he wanted to fix it, wanted to make amends. “I'm sorry, Akechi, I really went too far, I should have—”

“Shut up.” Akechi said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “Just stop talking.”

Akira shut up. He just knelt in front of the bed, looking at Akechi, not knowing what to do.

Slowly, Akechi pushed himself up, not looking at Akira. He wiped himself off with the sheets, including his face, slid off the bed, then went to retrieve his clothing.

Akira didn't move, only daring to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Akechi winced when he pulled his underwear and pants over his ass, but otherwise, showed no other emotion. He retrieved his belt, buckled it, and put on his socks and shoes. He tucked in his shirt, smoothed his crumpled blazer, and then, dry-eyed, gave Akira the iciest smile he'd ever seen. It was less a smile and more the act of a beast baring its teeth to threaten a rival. Even with his mussed hair and the smell of sex still hanging around him, it was enough to make Akira shiver.

“I don't think there's a need for either of us to apologize,” he said, staring down at Akira where he still knelt on the floor, spent dick still hanging foolishly out of his pants.

Before Akira could even begin to contemplate what he meant by that, Akechi was already across the room, down the stairs, and out the door.

 


	2. Bluffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after they enter Shidou's palace, Akechi comes back.

It was late at Leblanc, and Soujirou had already gone home. Akira was fiddling with the espresso machine, but somehow, everything he poured was coming out tasting like ass right now. He had one latte, now cold, one cappucino, now cold, and three different shots lined up on the bar, all of them untouched. If Soujirou had been here, he'd be telling Akira not so waste so much goddamn coffee.

Sighing, Akira gave up and circled around to the front of the bar, where he sat down in front of the shots, but didn't drink them. It was way too late to be drinking this much espresso. He was boiling water in the electric kettle for a pour-over, but it would probably just be best to quit now.

“You'll get it eventually, Akira,” Morgana encouraged him from where he sat on the bar counter. “Probably.”

Privately, Akira thought it was a lost cause, and he should've just gotten Miss Kawakami to do it, but the point of this had been distraction. Not that it was working.

Akira's brooding was cut short, however, when Morgana yelled, “Duck!” as the cat simultaneously leapt off the counter and behind the bar.

Akira didn't ask why. He'd heard that tone of voice enough times in the other world to react automatically, throwing himself out of his chair and onto the ground as there was a sharp clapping sound together with a smash of glass and crack that sounded like the sink at the back of the cafe breaking.

Immediately after the crack, Akira flipped over the counter to hide on the other side of the bar, and just in time—there was another smash and clap, and a thunk in the hardwood floor.

Reflexively, Akira's hand went for his gun—and realized that this was the real world, and he didn't even own any real guns. Hunched under the bar, his eye scanned the space around him. There wasn't much here he could use to defend himself. Dosing funnels. Coffee tampers.

_Smash-clap._ A bullet burst through the counter right beside him, skimming his arm. Morgana screeched and scampered back into the kitchen. Someone was shooting at him, and they were outside the door in the dark, shooting through the glass.

Akira's eye scanned the wall, and lighted on the electric kettle. It clicked, turning off automatically as it finished coming to a boil.

He didn't have time to think. He lunged over toward the electric kettle, grabbed it by the handle, spun and flung it at the figure out the door in one motion. The glass door smashed, and a man screamed.

Akira bounded over the counter again, kicking the broken glass door open to the night to pounce on his attacker, shoving him to the ground.

The attacker had dropped his gun, and the clothed wrist caught Akira's grip was soaked with hot water and burned to the touch. The attacker's right arm was grabbing Akira's hair and trying to wrench him off.

Akira took a knee to the gut, but it was off-center, and it didn't quite wind him. Akira grabbed the attacker by the hair, shoving his head down into the concrete with a _smack—_ not that hard, they were on the ground already, but it was enough to stun the attacker and enable Akira to get a good look at who it was—

“ _Akechi?_ ”

It was Akechi sprawled underneath him. His left arm was soaked with hot water and reaching in vain for the gun that skittered a foot away. Akira beat him to the punch, snatched the gun, and pointed it at him instead.

“Don't move,” Akira snapped at him. There were lights snapping on around them. They were drawing attention with the noise. “Get up and get inside.” He stepped off Akechi, but kept the gun pointed at him as he retrieved the now-dented kettle, crunching over the broken glass of the door. “Now.”

Expressionless, Akechi did as told, slipping inside the cafe, and Akira followed him.

xxx

“Meow, Akira…” Morgana said, sounding skeptical. “I dunno about this. We should call the others.”

Akira shook his head. “No. I'm handling this. Go out and make sure there's no neighbours coming by and noticing the broken glass, or calling the police because of the noise.”

“You want me to just leave you with him?!” Morgana's tail flicked toward Akechi, who was currently in the middle of Akira's bedroom, duct-taped to Akira's desk chair. His suppressor-equipped gun was in Akira's hands, safety on, and he had been checked for any other weapons and divested of a pocket knife.

“I've got this. You check downstairs and let me know if it looks like the cops are coming,” said Akira.

Morgana did not seem convinced, but he did as instructed, pattering down the stairs and out of sight.

“So,” Akira turned back to Akechi. “Care to tell me what this is about?”

“Do you really need it spelled out for you, at this point?” Akechi's tone turned to something that Akira had previously only ever heard of him through Futaba's recordings from his cell phone. Slick, nasty, and explicitly hostile.

“I'm a pretty stupid guy,” Akira spat, folding his arms as he stood a couple arms-lengths away from Akechi's chair. “I think you're going to have to be pretty blunt about it for me to understand.”

Akechi grinned—and this expression was familiar, the same toothy, beast-like expression Akechi had shown him that night nearly a month ago. “I blew it the first time. So I came here to fix my mistake. Didn't go very well, though.”

Akira wondered if Akechi had smiled like this, eyes flared wide, when he'd shot Cognitive Akira in that containment cell. Or maybe he'd had nothing at all on his face. Had he said anything to the fake Akira, thinking it was the real one? Was there a farewell? A witty quip? A smug, twisted smirk? Or a hint of remorse?

But these thoughts had already been spinning around and around in circles in his head for the past few days, and hadn't gotten him anywhere.

He cut to the chase. “Why do you want to kill me?”

Akechi's face went blank again. “Oh, I could say it was all just business, nothing personal. You were just getting in my way. Just a useful tool for me to discard. But that would be a lie.” His lips curled in a sneer. “I just fucking _hate_ you.”

That look was a blow to the gut more effective than Akechi's earlier knee to Akira's stomach. Akira dropped his arms at his sides, but did his best not to let his feelings show in his face as he took a step toward Akechi and leaned down to hiss, “For someone who claims to hate me, you sure seemed to love my cock.”

Akechi chuckled. “Did you know already, then? That I planned to betray you? I wasn't thinking about it at all, at the time, but now that I think of it, you seemed unusually angry.” He shrugged as best he could with duct tape wrapped around his shoulders and chest. “It was hot, though.”

“What was that even—” Akira's arm swung out in an angry gesture, but he cut himself off. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask. There were too many questions, and he couldn't sort them all out.

“What was that about?” Akechi finished the question for him. “Why don't you tell me? You're the one who dragged me into it. Honestly, I assumed you just had a _big old crush_ on me.” His tone turned condescending, mocking.

Akira went silent, lips pressed together. But he refused to look away.

Akechi's eyes caught his, and he gave another mean smile. “Oh, that's it, isn't it? You were angry because you had a _crush_ on me, and I broke your little heart.”

Akira backhanded him across the face with the hand that held the gun. Akechi's cheek made a ripe _smack_ as his face was slapped aside.

“Oh, are we doing it again?” Akechi said, smiling even wider, his head still cocked sideways as the corner of his lip dripped blood. “Well, you know I'm into that. I'm even tied up already.”

Akira wanted to scream. He didn't want to be hitting Akechi. He didn't want any of this. He'd set this up with the intent of having maybe a fraction of questions answered, but this was just getting more twisted up.

He put the gun down on the shelf. He came back to Akechi. Leaned his hands on Akechi's duct-taped knees, and forced himself to look straight at Akechi in the eye. “Tell me what you honestly think of me.”

Akechi stared back him, blank-faced. “I told you. I hate you.”

“And?”

“There is no _and_.”

Akira kept his eyes locked on Akechi's, determined to win this battle of wills. Akechi stared back at him. Akira took a few deep breaths, in and out, forcing the anger out of his system. His hands on Akechi's knees relaxed. Maybe his expression changed, too, as Akechi looked away, and when he spoke, it was quietly. “I'd never let some delinquent with a criminal record and his gang of misfits take it all away from me. You have no _idea_ how hard I've worked for this. I've made myself _perfect_ for this. _I'm_ going to be the one to kill Shidou. And I'm going to kill you.” He paused. “Just like I killed Futaba and Mr. Sakura.”

Akira jerked back like he'd been shot. “You're lying.”

“What makes you think I'm lying?” Akechi's eyes swivelled toward him, his tone calm, almost jovial. “I went to their house just now. They were both at home. I really only meant to kill Futaba, but Mr. Sakura saw me, you see. I don't normally kill in the real world, since it gets messy like that. But what can you do?”

“You're fucking lying.” Akira grabbed the wooden back behind Akechi's shoulders by its corners and rattled the whole chair.

“You can check the magazine in that gun,” Akechi jerked his chin over at the weapon Akira had left on the shelf. The magazine fits fifteen rounds. I fired three at you. There are only nine rounds left. One in Futaba's head, two in Mr. Sakura' heart.”

Akira walked over to the shelf, grabbed the gun, popped open the magazine, and counted. It was just as Akechi said. Nine bullets. Akira slid the magazine back in again until it clicked.

Then he stepped back to Akechi and touched the muzzle of the gun to the other boy's forehead.

Akechi gave him a dead-eyed grin. “Oh, are you going to do it? They'll _really_ put you in prison for this. Or do you think you can escape this time, too? Maybe you can. What a move for the hero of justice to make. What is it they always say at times like these, in the movies? _We're not so different, you and I?_ ”

Akira slid the safety off.

Akechi closed his eyes.

Akira stood there for a solid minute, eyes fixed on Akechi's face. Then he clicked the safety back on and lowered the gun. “You really are lying.”

“What?” Akechi's eyes flew open.

“You haven't killed Futaba or Soujirou.” Akira placed the gun on the shelf again and knelt in front of Akechi.

“Is that what you think?” Akechi sneered. “Why would I lie to you, when you _know_ killing them would be so easy for me?”

Akira laid his head down on Akechi's lap, wrapping his arms around Akechi's calves. “You're just trying to provoke me. You wouldn't do it. You can't. And you weren't even properly trying to kill me, either.” He paused, hugging Akechi's legs to him, feeling them tense in his embrace, then raised his head up to look at Akechi's face. “You came here to try to make me kill you.”

Akechi was silent. He just stared down at Akira with his chin cocked up and his eyeballs rolled down: a pose of arrogance and disdain.

“How did it feel the first time, when you believed you'd killed me?” Akira asked him. “Did it feel satisfying? Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” said Akechi flatly, but Akira didn't miss twitch of his eyes to one side.

“All right, then.” Akira stood again to reach over to the shelf and pick up the gun, along with the pocket knife he'd confiscated from Akechi. Then he sliced off all duct tape restraining Akechi in the chair, pressed the gun into his hands, and knelt in front of him. “Then do it. Do it now.”

Akechi was stunned for a moment, just sitting there limply. But then the look in his eyes changed, his grip on the gun tightened, and he pointed the gun at Akira's face. Click. Safety off.

Akira just stared back up at him, making no move to stop him. Akechi's finger twitched on the trigger, but didn't press it. A minute passed. Two. Akira never took his eyes off Akechi.

_Click._ Akechi slid the safety back on. Then he flung the gun across the room, stood, knocking the chair over, and wound his leg back to kick Akira hard in the stomach.

The shoe to the gut winded Akira completely, sending him flopping backward to land flat on his back. He just lay there for a few moments, gasping for breath. Before he could catch his wind, he felt a cold shoe sole on his cheek as Akechi stepped on his face, pressing his head to the side and into the floor.

This time, it was Akira's turn to grin. “Heh.” He reached up and swung an arm at the back of Akechi's standing leg, hitting the calf in just the right spot to make his knee buckle and pull him down to join Akira on the ground. Akechi's strong suit was clearly not fistfights, and it wasn't long before Akira had him pinned, just like he'd pinned him outside the cafe.

“You can't do it,” Akira said with a laugh. “You can't do it!” Then he let go of Akechi's wrists and wrapped his arms around his torso, raising him into a sitting position in a tight hug.

Akechi froze stiff in his arms, but Akira didn't move, squeezing tighter and burying his face in Akechi's neck.

“Why are you doing this?” Akechi asked, tense, but with an edge of resignation.

“Why the hell do you think I'm doing this?!” Akira practically yelled at him. It was so close to his ear, Akechi winced.

“…You're right,” Akechi said finally, after some pause. “Partially. I figured coming here, one of us would die, maybe both. Either way was fine with me. But now you've won. There you go. The hero of justice defeats evil. Congratulations, Kurusu.” There wasn't even any bitterness in his voice. It was just flat, empty.

“You're not evil,” Akira sniffed. At this point, it became difficult to hide that he was crying into Akechi's jacket, which was still covered with duct tape stickiness. Akira's cheek was sticking to Akechi's jacket where the duct tape had been.

“You only say that because you don't know how many people I've killed.”

“I have a guess…but I don't c-care.” Akira was really sobbing now, his grip on Akechi trembling.

“You're…crazy.”

“…Probably.”

“Stop crying.”

“N-no.”

“Aha-ha…” Akechi laughed. It was the first sincere laugh Akira had heard out of him in a while. Slowly, Akechi raised one arm to move around Akira's back. It just stayed there, not holding tight enough to really be called a hug, as Akira was basically sitting in his lap. “I guess I can't expect you to do what I tell you…” He sighed. “I don't even understand why you're crying.”

“…Because I'm happy.” Letting Akechi point that gun at him had probably been the biggest gamble of his life. He'd been working half off gut-feelings and half off pure hope, a good portion of his mind screaming at him that Akechi was going to kill him, while the rest of his mind just didn't give a damn.

And now that it was over, now that he knew Akechi couldn't bring himself to kill him a second time, it was as if everything that had tensed up inside him went slack at once, and he couldn't hold it in anymore.

Akira raised his face then, still streaked with tears, so he could look at Akechi.

“I love you. Stay with me.”

Akechi was so startled, he didn't know what to say. He just laughed awkwardly, eyes darting to the side. “You really are crazy.”

“I know. Just—I'm worried…you'll go somewhere. You'll do something. Maybe you'll change your mind—in a bad way. I don't know. So give me an opportunity to…I don't know. Give you something. Before—” Akira cut off. He was aware he wasn't being coherent. “Just stay with me tonight. You don't have to give me anything else. Just tonight.”

Akechi gave him a look that was half-incredulous, half-exasperated. “Are you saying—are you trying to turn me away from the dark side with healing cock?”

Akira blinked, staring at him. Then he burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, that's exactly it. So how about it? Do you want some healing cock?”

“Just some regular cock, please,” Akechi muttered, only somewhat sarcastically.

Akira pushed Akechi's shoulders down to the ground, and Akechi let him. Akira scooted up so he was sitting over Akechi's chest, and plunged his hands into Akechi's hair. “You want it?”

“Yes,” Akechi said.

Akira couldn't read the look Akechi gave him, but it wasn't mean or malicious, or upset either, and that was good enough for him. He was aware he was being selfish, here, but Akechi had just made a couple of attempts on his life, and Akira felt he deserved a little selfishness. And honestly, the intensity of the moment already had him turned on.

Akira undid his belt and his zipper, pulled his dick out of his pants and slid his already half-hard cock into Akechi's mouth.

Akechi took it in, closing his eyes and closing his lips around Akira's cock as Akira thrust slowly into his mouth, easing his dick in and out and enjoying the heat in Akechi's eyes. He held Akechi's head as he gently fucked Akechi's face, feeling himself quickly grow harder in Akechi's mouth.

“Ah…Akechi…Akechi…” he muttered, hips speeding up, in spite of himself. Night after night he'd spent beating off to this, the thought of Akechi's face, Akechi taking him all the way down his throat. Drool dribbled out the corner of Akechi's mouth as Akira thrust down into his throat, harder this time. His hips bucked, Akechi made a choking sound—and Akira remembered the last time.

He pulled out of Akechi's mouth and rolled away to seat himself on the floor to the side, panting.

Akechi pushed himself off the hardwood flooring, wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, and turned to look at Akira.

“I'm sorry,” Akira said, eyes on the floor. “For—for last time. I…”

“I tried to kill you again and again, and you're going to apologize for fucking me a little too hard?” Akira looked up to see Akechi had a look of incredulity on his face. “Please.”

Put that way, though, it did sound a little absurd. Akira laughed weakly. “You seemed…upset.”

Akechi's gaze twitched sideways. “It wasn't the pain that…upset me.”

“Huh?”

Akechi drew a hand through his mussed hair, a gesture that Akira found irresistibly attractive. “You…made me apologize to you.” He didn't say anything else, leaving Akira to fill in the blanks.

Akira inched forward, coming up to kneel between Akechi's legs, his hand touching Akechi's thigh. “You could've said no.”

“I…couldn't.”

Whether he meant that he couldn't because he'd been too lost in the moment, or he couldn't because of something else, Akira couldn't tell. “I'm sorry.”

Akechi just chuckled. “There you go again.”

Akira's hand slid up Akechi's thigh, up his side, reaching to ease his blazer off, and Akechi let him. “So then…what do you want, this time?”

“I thought this was about what _you_ want. Your opportunity to try to fix me before I run off again to my wicked ways. So do it.”

“I'm not trying to…” Or wasn't he? Akira didn't know. “Just tell me what you want.”

“You _know_ what I want.” Akechi reached toward him and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning in close to Akira's face to speak in a low tone. “I want you to hurt me so badly, I don't even remember who I am anymore.”

Akira grabbed him by both sides of the head and kissed him, hard.

xxx

Akira didn't have the patience to make it to the bed. When he stripped Akechi's wet shirt off, he noticed his his entire left arm was red and ready to blister from where Akira had hit him with the hot kettle—good. It had to be burning by now. Holding Akechi's arms behind him, Akira used the shirt to bind his wrists, enjoying the moan Akechi made as the coarse cloth rubbed at his red left wrist.

He yanked down Akechi's pants, barely pausing for lube, and fucked him there on the floor from behind as Akechi moaned with his cheek against the floor.

“Tell me…you want this, Akechi,” Akira panted, hands on Akechi's waist.

“Ah..! I want this…I want this…”

“Tell me…you want me, Akechi.”

“I want you…I want you, Akira,” Akechi whimpered, and that was all it took to make Akira come, jerking inside him with ragged thrusts as he emptied his balls inside Akechi.

Part of him wanted to end it there, to just flop over and cuddle Akechi for the rest of the night, but the flush in Akechi's cheeks and the arch in his back wouldn't allow that. Akechi had told him what he wanted. _Hurt me so badly, I don't even remember who I am anymore._

Pulling away from him, Akira stood up, did his pants up again, then grabbed Akechi by the hair and dragged him back to the chair where he'd been duct-taped before. Akechi skittered along the ground, following as fast as his limbs would take him to ease the tug at his hair.

Akira flung him down sideways over the chair on his stomach, then rummaged through one of his boxes to find what he was looking for. He wasn't going to tie Akechi up with duct tape, this time. Cotton rope. Two bunches. He wound it around Akechi's wrists, securing them in front of him to the chair legs, taking a sadistic pleasure in yanking the rope tight around Akechi's burned left wrist. He used the second length of rope to wrap several times just above each of his knees, tying them to the other two legs, making sure Akechi's torso was pulled back enough that Akira would have free access to his cock.

Akira started off by sliding a cool, lubed finger lightly along Akechi's ass crack, playing just a bit at the pucker until Akechi shivered.

“I said I wanted it to hurt,” Akechi muttered, head hanging down in front of the chair.

From behind, Akira grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, leaning in until his lips were close to Akechi's ear. “Are you telling me how to do this?” His left hand reached under Akechi's ass to squeeze his balls just a fraction too tight, making Akechi yelp.

“No, no…”

“No, _Master._ ”

“No, Master…”

“Every time you fail to address me properly…” Akira breathed, “You're going to get this.” He gave Akechi's cock a single, loving stroke, then drew his hand back to slap him in the balls.

“Ahh!” Akechi cringed, tensing in Akira's hands. Akira let go of his hair, then pulled away to go rummage around in his box again.

He pulled out a string of anal beads. Akechi strained his neck around, but couldn't quite see what Akira was doing from this angle.

After careful lubrication, Akira slid them into Akechi's ass, one after another, ascending in size, enjoying each twitch Akechi made as his asshole swallowed them up. As he calmly went about his task, he spoke to Akechi. “I can't help but wonder how your fans would react to see their idol like this. Just imagine seeing this on TV.”

“Don't.”

“Don't what?” Akira purred. He'd told Akechi a safe word, and Akechi wasn't saying it, so his protest didn't mean anything. Though Akira doubted Akechi would ever say it, anyway. Akechi clearly got off on having his boundaries violated. Akira would have to use his own judgment.

“Don't…” Akechi trailed off.

“Don't humiliate you?” Akira said. “I hate to break it to you, but you're tied to a chair with your bare ass in the air, filled with anal beads, and you're hard as a rock. You've already humiliated yourself.” Akira slid his hand up Akechi's back slowly, ass to shoulder, enjoying watching Akechi arch into his touch. “You like pain too much, so that won't make a decent punishment.” He circled around to the front of the chair so he could look at Akechi's face.

“Punishment?” Akechi muttered, eyes glassy with arousal.

Akira cradled Akechi's face in his hands, petted his hair. “You don't think you deserve to be punished?”

Akechi was silent.

Akira leaned in close and placed a gentle kiss on Akechi's lips. “You're not the only one with complicated feelings, you know,” he breathed. “I _want_ to hurt you.” Then he drew back and reached over to the shelf—for his cell phone. “I think I'll take some nice pictures.”

Akechi blanched. “No. Don't.”

But Akira ignored him, tapped on his camera app, took careful aim and got a nice shot of Akechi from the front. “This one shows your face nice and clear,” he said, with a sadistic smile. “You strike me as such an image-conscious person. Would this bother you if it went up on the internet?”

Akechi stared back at him. “You're just bluffing to mess with me.”

“Am I? Bluffing to mess with someone, hmm? _Where_ have I heard that one before? Oh! It's something _you_ did.” Akira circled around and drew back a hand to smack Akechi's ass and make Akechi yelp, then snapped a photo of his hand laid possessively over Akechi's butt cheek. He shifted back to kneeling in front of Akechi's face, gripping his chin to jerk it up. “You know _all_ _about_ lies and psychological manipulation. Cheese.” He snapped a shot of Akechi's reddened, aroused face.

“Fuck you.” Akechi stuttered.

“Fuck you, _Master._ ” Akira reached over to slap him in the balls again, and Akechi gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck you, Master,” Akechi said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, that's better, “Akira purred. “Remember what you said? _Hurt me so badly, I don't even remember who I am anymore._ ” Akira stroked his face. “I'm just doing what you asked for. Be grateful.” Akira's stroke turned to a thumb nail, digging into his cheek. “ _Be grateful._ ”

“Thank you…Master.”

“Good boy.” Akira patted his head.

Not a few moments later, Akira had a thin cane out and was striking Akechi's ass and thighs with one hand while he used his other to film the sight with his phone. Not the most elegant video, but it included the most important things: Akechi's red-striped ass and the pathetic sounds he made.

“How are you liking that, Akechi?” Akira asked him smoothly, striking him in a rhythmic, almost bored manner.

“It's good…” Akechi mumbled, slowly becoming more incoherent. “It's good…”

“Only good? Is that all?”

“I—love it…” Akechi said, breath hitching at a particularly hard slap.

“Tell the camera just how much you love it,” Akira commanded him.

“I love it—so much. _Please_ …don't stop…don't stop, Master…”

Akira was hard in his pants, had been hard for some time now, but he was too engrossed in this, too engrossed in the feeling of having Akechi give everything to him. He struck harder, enjoying Akechi's yelp as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“Tell me you're mine,” Akira hissed. “Tell me you'll do anything for me.”

“I'm yours,” Akechi moaned, his voice rising along with the volume of the strikes on his ass. “I'll do anything for you, Master.”

A particularly wicked instinct hit Akira, and he grinned to himself. “Call me Joker. Say, _I'm yours, Joker. I'll do anything for you, Joker._ ”

Akechi paused, and Akira wound up for a particularly vicious strike, making him scream. “Say it!”

“I'm yours, Joker…I'll do anything for you, Joker…” Akechi mumbled.

“ _You've stolen my heart, Joker._ Say it.”

“You've…” Akechi started, caught up in a haze of lust, but the single shred of mental faculty left to him held him in check.

_Smack. Smack._ _ **Smack.**_ But Akira knew he could make Akechi say anything, right now.

“You've stolen my heart, Joker,” Akechi choked out.

“Good boy.” Akira dropped the cane, reaching over to loosen the bonds around Akechi's left wrist. When it was free, he ordered Akechi, “Jerk yourself off.”

Akechi was so close, he didn't even hesitate, hand going straight to his own dick to bring himself release. Akira kept a hand on his ass, waiting, and when he felt Akechi tense, he yanked the anal beds out, and Akechi's hand stilled on his dick as he came with a cry.

Akira stopped the recording.

As Akechi lay panting on the chair, utterly spent, Akira went back over the video, checking the highlights—making sure his phone volume was turned up to the max so Akechi could hear.

“ _I'm yours, Joker…I'll do anything for you, Joker…” “You've stolen my heart, Joker…”_

“Ohh, that's good.” Akira sat himself down in front of Akechi's face, turning the phone around to show Akechi the image of himself screaming in pleasure and submitting everything to his arch-rival. “The famous Detective Prince submits to the leader of the Phantom Thieves. A _lot_ of people would enjoy this.”

Slowly, realization dawned on Akechi's face, and Akira drank it down like a thick, sweet latte.

With no warning, Akechi's arm sprung out for the phone, but Akira was too quick, scooting back and yanking the phone away. “You really don't like this, do you?” Akira said. “Oh, just so you know, it's not all one big video file. I recorded it in a a bunch of little clips, to make it easier to upload as attachments.”

“You don't fucking _dare—”_ Akechi hissed, his face filled with rage.

“Oh, I _do_ dare. Let's see, CC Ryuuji, Ann, Yuusuke, Makoto…”

The whole chair jerked, scraping an inch across the ground, before Akechi realized that with one arm free, he could start untying himself, so he started fumbling with the knots at his other wrist, but he had an awful time of it. Akira was good at knots.

Akira scooted back a little further to be safe as he continued, set the file to upload, and finally, hit send, then flipped the phone around so Akechi could see the _sending_ screen. “And there we go. All the Phantom Thieves are now informed about your proclivities. Who should I send this to next?” Akira paused dramatically, grinning back at Akechi's expression of rage and horror. “How about the TV station? Or Niijima Sae? Or…Shidou.”

A look of abject humiliation deeper than anything Akechi had ever revealed that night spread across his face. “Don't. You. Dare,” he spat.

“We got his contact information in his Palace, you know,” Akira drawled as he tapped at his phone. “Including his personal email.” A few more taps. “I'll send him that last one. _You've stolen my heart, Joker._ ”

Akechi kept on fumbling and yanking at the rope around his other wrist, but it wasn't coming off that easy. Akira attached the video file, tapped send, then flipped the phone around to show Akechi it said _message sent._

Akechi flung his arm out in vain, and only succeeded in knocking the whole chair over to slam down on his side. He screamed and pounded his fist on the ground.

Akira enjoyed the sight of Akechi just completely fucking losing it for a good minute before he scooted a foot or two closer to him, grinned, and said, “…Gotcha.” He pushed the phone closer to Akechi's eyes, so he could see Akira had only sent the message to a fake email called _Jokerjustgotcha@_ _takethatAkechi_ _.co.jp._

Akechi's eyes widened, and he just stared at it for a second. “…Aha. Aha-ha-ha. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” He laughed, tears coming to his eyes. “…Oh, you got me. You just keep bluffing me through the roof. I should have learned my lesson by now.”

Akira tucked his phone back in his pocket, then reached out to untie Akechi's wrist. Akechi had really tightened the fuck out of it with his struggling, through, so Akira decided (regrettably) just to cut it with Akechi's pocket knife before he went to work on the other rope over Akechi's knees, and in a couple minutes, Akechi was off the chair, sitting on the ground gingerly, rubbing his chest where the chair edges had dug into him.

“Forgive me for my petty revenge,” Akira said, scooting forward to kneel in front of Akechi and wrap an arm around his waist. His other hand, he brought up to push Akechi's head down onto his shoulder, and Akechi didn't resist.

“No…that was good, I have to admit,” Akechi mumbled. “You really have a nasty streak, don't you?”

“Just like you.”

“I'm mostly nasty streak.”

“Then I'm just going to have to step up if I want to compete, aren't I?”

Akechi chuckled, but let himself lean into Akira as Akira ran his hand up and down his back and stroked his hair.

“I'm sure your ass is killing you, sitting on the floor like this, so let's move over to the bed.” Akira took Akechi by the hand, pulling him up, and Akechi didn't resist. He seemed drained.

Akira laid him down on his side, then said, “hold on,” and scampered downstairs for a minute and came back with a couple of ice packs in a towel for Akechi's arm. Akira tucked the ice packs in with Akechi, and Akechi accepted his kindness without protest, either out of exhaustion or resignation.

Akira shucked off his own shirt and pants to climb into bed behind him, careful to be gentle with Akechi's rear as he hugged him around his stomach.

“I'm…going to go,” Akechi muttered, but he didn't make any move to get up.

“In a few minutes,” Akira said against his back with zero sincerity.

xxx

Morgana had been wandering around the block, keeping a lookout on the area, but it seemed things were quiet. He hopped back into the cafe through the hole in the front door (the Master was not going to be happy about that) and padded up the stairs.

“Akira, is Akechi—” he began, then froze.

Akira was sprawled on his back, fast asleep, with Akechi Gorou on top of him, also asleep, face buried in Akira's neck.

Too startled to really feel miffed that his spot in Akira's bed had been usurped, Morgana turned around and trotted back down the stairs again, deciding he would sleep in the warm spot at the bottom of the fridge, instead.

 


	3. Epilogue

Akira was woken up the next morning by a shout of horror from the cafe below. Akechi was nowhere to be found.

“AKIRA!” Came the bellow from downstairs. “WHAT IN THE SIXTEEN HELLS HAPPENED TO MY CAFE?!”

It seemed he would have some explaining to do.

xxx

Leblanc was closed for the day, and Akira was strictly instructed to come back right after school to spend the evening helping with repairs (and explaining himself, goddammit). Naturally, the rest of the Thieves got wind of this, and out of pity and solidarity, they all decided to join him at the cafe and see what they could do to fix things. The place was their HQ, after all.

And so, Akira was left to explain exactly what had happened in front of a fairly large audience.

He had instructed Morgana, on pain of ear-tugging and paw-smooshing, to keep his fuzzy mouth shut and never bring up Akechi's name in relation to this incident. Morgana, of course, did not like this one bit, but would do it, for Akira's sake.

“So you're telling me,” Soujirou began, “a mysterious attacker shot at you from outside, and you drove them away by throwing a kettle of hot water at them? And you never saw their face and have no idea who they might be.” He was standing in front of the bar, skepticism emanating from every pore of his body.

“That's right,” Akira said, belatedly yanking his hands out of his pockets in an attempt to look more respectful about this. He was doing his best not to wilt under Soujirou's very worst dad glare.

Meanwhile, Yuusuke and Ann had thick garden gloves on and were taking the broken glass out of the front door, Ryuuji was packing the broken sink pieces into a box, Haru was sweeping to make sure all the glass was cleaned up, and Futaba was slacking off and getting away with it. Morgana was lying on the table, sulking and shooting resentful looks at Akira.

“This doesn't feel right,” said Makoto, who was investigating the bullets lodged in the floor. They had decided not to call the police, since the situation with the Thieves was so sensitive, and they told the neighbours the window had been smashed by a random drunk the other night. “Why would a lone shooter target Akira? If Shidou knows Akira is here and is looking to take action, he could go through the police.”

“Ha-ha, yeah, it's pretty strange,” said Akira with feigned nonchalance. “Maybe it was totally unrelated. Some gangster type got mixed up and shot up the wrong shop. Who knows?”

Under the pressure of Makoto's keen, Student Council President eyes, Akira sweated bullets. He liked to believe he was usually better at lying than this. But somehow, it was a lot harder to lie to a whole crowd of people who knew you far too well.

“That seems unlikely,” said Makoto. “There are certainly a lot of people who might want to attack you if they know you're alive, but for those who are aware of your whereabouts, this seems like a very small-scale attack. It would have to be an individual who knows you're alive, knows where you live, and also has access to firearms, but not any other help...”

“I have a friend who's former yakuza...and some of his old friends don't like me,” said Akira, glad to have this straw to grasp.

“You fought off the yakuza with a hot kettle?” said Ryuuji. “No way. Sorry, man, you're badass, but not that badass. There's no way it was the yakuza.”

Makoto smacked her palm with a fist. “You know, maybe it could be Ak—”

“Actually someone totally different!” Akira blurted desperately. “But anyway, what's important is that I'm pretty certain they're not coming back. Clearly, the guy blew it, and I burned his hand pretty badly. He'll have trouble firing a gun for a while.”

More than one set of eyes was looking at him with suspicion, now.

“Oh yeah, so what happened to Akechi, anyway?” Ann said, totally not fooled by Akira's attempt to drown out his name, as she spun a roll of duct tape around her finger. Yuusuke was completely involved in duct-taping cardboard to the door where the glass had been, really taking it to the next artistic level, and it seemed he didn't want her interfering.

“I bet he's just laying low,” said Ryuuji. “'Cause he knows we'll kick his ass if he shows up again.”

“He stopped coming to the cafe,” said Futaba, seated at one of the tables and fiddling with her phone. “It'd be dumb if he did.”

Soujirou nodded. “I haven't seen that kid here since the night you made that ruckus upstairs about a month ago, Akira.”

Akira mentally screamed, but decided it was best to pretend that Soujrou had never said that. “Yeah, he must be laying low.” Hands in pockets. Casual demeanour. Cool. _Cool._

“Ruckus upstairs?” Haru asked curiously as she paused in her sweeping.

Akira gave her a look that said _STOP DO NOT SAY ANYTHING TAKE THAT BACK_ but Haru either didn't notice it, or ignored it.

...With that tiny, barely detectable little crack of a smirk on her face, Akira was betting it was the latter.

“Oh, yeah,” Soujirou sighed. “Well, I'm not gonna judge. I had some wild times when I was your age. Just keep it safe, Akira,” he slapped Akira on the shoulder, picked up a bag of glass trash, and went to take it out back to the dumpster.

Akira could feel his face slowly turning a shade somewhere between purple and crimson.

Everyone was staring at him.

“YOU FUCKED AKECHI?!” Ryuuji shrieked, dropping a piece of sink with a thud. “The guy who literally just tried to kill you?!”

Akira waved his hands defensively. “That was before he tried to kill me!” _And after he tried to kill me,_ he added mentally.

“But if it was about a month ago...wouldn't that be after we discovered he was planning to kill you?” said Makoto.

“I mean yes, technically, but...”

“WHY?!” Ryuuji seemed particularly distraught about this. Perhaps suspiciously distraught.

“Um...” Akira twiddled his pointer fingers, at a loss.

“Was he good?” Ann blurted. “I mean, if you're doing a guy who's literally planning to kill you, it better be amazing. Right?”

“I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!” Ryuuji cried.

“I do,” Futaba said, leaning forward in her seat.

“Well...” A slow grin spread over Akira's face.

“So he _was_ good,” Ann said.

“So who was the uke?” asked Futaba.

“Please...don't use that word...” Ryuuji covered his eyes with his hands.

“ _Neko_ is the preferred term among men who have sex with men,” Yuusuke informed the group, earning him a stare from Ryuuji.

“Why do you know that?!”

“Oh, Akechi was the bottom,” Haru said suddenly, and all eyes swivelled around to look at her. “I mean, I couldn't know for sure, but he just strikes me as the type.”

“And he was apparently loud as heck?” said Ann. “Wow, I can't even imagine it.”

“I can,” Futaba chirped.

“Oh, it's always the more reserved types who end up being the loudest,” said Haru, and for some reason, Makoto turned beet red.

Akira was desperately waiting for this conversation to end. But it seemed Morgana would not be so kind.

“Yeah, he was pretty loud, all right,” said the cat. “At first, I thought Akira was jumping the gun and killing the guy. What the heck went on up there? Do humans normally do that sort of stuff with belts? Then honestly, I'm not even sure I wanna be one anymore. That looked painful.”

Akira wasn't sure whether Morgana was really that naive, or if this was petty revenge for making him lie about what had happened to the coffee shop.

“Dude, dude, no, no...” Ryuuji sobbed.

Yuusuke was rubbing his chin pensively, Futaba looked delightfully scandalized. Haru shot an appreciative look at Akira, then a completely different sort of look at Makoto, who blushed again. And Ann was mouthing _tell me later_ as she made texting gestures.

Akira was starting to wish that Akechi _had_ managed to shoot him in the head.

x x x

The spacious and minimalistic apartment was dark except for the one floor lamp that illuminated Shidou, duct-taped to one of his kitchen chairs, set in the middle of his living room. His eyes were wide as he stared up at Gorou, who stood before him with a gun in his hands.

“I was going to wait until things were perfect to do this,” Gorou said, “But it looks like we won't have the time for that, since the Thieves are closing in on you. So we'll have to do the quick-and-dirty version.”

“How did you get in here?” Shidou demanded, struggling against his bonds to no avail.

“Don't ask boring questions,” Akechi snapped, backhanding Shidou with his gun hand and taking great pleasure in watching his head jerk to the side. A trickle of blood ran down his lower lip.

“I've recently learned a number of wonderful ways to humiliate someone, from a master in the art,” Akechi continued with a grin. “So let's get started.”

 


End file.
